Why the Best Trips Sometimes Have Absolutely No Itinerary
We have a proposal.
Come to the mountains.
And do almost nothing.
We know.
It sounds irresponsible.
Perfect.
Somewhere along the way, vacations became work.
Research the destination.
Build the itinerary.
Book the attraction.
Make the reservation.
Check the reviews.
Set the alarm.
Get everyone moving.
Hurry up.
We’re going to be late for relaxing.
By Sunday, you need a vacation from your vacation.
There is another way.
Find a cabin so good that leaving feels unnecessary.
Then don’t.
WELCOME TO THE GLORIOUS ART OF DOING VERY LITTLE
Imagine this:
You wake up because sunlight came through the window.
Not because your phone screamed at you.
Nobody asks what time it is.
Nobody cares.
You roll over.
The bed is warm.
The mountains aren’t going anywhere.
Eventually, somebody says coffee.
Excellent idea.
COFFEE IS AN ACTIVITY NOW
Make it slowly.
Take it outside.
Sit down.
Look at the view.
That’s your first activity.
There is no second activity scheduled.
This may initially make productive adults uncomfortable.
You might feel an urge to Google:
“Things to do near me.”
Resist.
You already found something to do.
You’re drinking coffee in the mountains.
You’re crushing it.
BREAKFAST CAN WAIT
Maybe breakfast happens at nine.
Maybe eleven-thirty.
Maybe somebody discovers bacon and suddenly the entire cabin smells incredible.
Music goes on.
Someone starts cooking eggs.
Someone else pours another cup.
Nobody is dressed appropriately for public viewing.
Perfect.
There is something deeply luxurious about having nowhere to go.
Not luxury as in marble floors and velvet ropes.
Real luxury.
Time.
Unclaimed, unscheduled, completely yours.
GET BACK IN BED
You’re an adult.
Nobody can stop you.
Read.
Nap.
Watch a movie.
Open the doors and listen to the outside world.
Have the kind of conversation that starts with something ridiculous and somehow ends two hours later with:
“Do you remember when we first met?”
These are the moments that disappear when every minute of a trip has somewhere to be.
THE AFTERNOON DECISION
Eventually somebody will ask:
“What do you want to do?”
Here is a perfectly acceptable answer:
“Nothing.”
But maybe the mountains start calling.
Fine.
Take a walk.
Drive somewhere beautiful.
Find a trail.
Get some fresh air.
Pick up something delicious for dinner.
Then come back.
Because tonight the cabin is where you want to be.
THE GOLDEN HOUR
This is where things get good.
Late afternoon.
The sun starts dropping.
The mountains soften.
The temperature falls.
Somebody opens a bottle.
Music drifts through the cabin.
The fire comes alive.
There is nowhere you need to be.
You begin wondering why normal life doesn’t contain more moments like this.
It could.
That might be the lesson.
DINNER SHOULD TAKE TOO LONG
Cook together.
Not efficiently.
Badly.
Slowly.
Open another bottle.
Taste things directly from the pan.
Steal a bite from somebody else’s plate.
Dance in the kitchen if the song demands it.
Make a mess.
Dinner doesn’t need to be impressive.
It needs to be enjoyed.
There is a difference.
THEN COMES THE HOT TUB
This is where ambitious plans officially die.
Steam rising.
Mountain air.
Stars overhead.
A drink in your hand.
Someone you love beside you.
No reservation can improve upon this.
Stay.
Let the water get your shoulders.
Look up.
There are moments when life becomes ridiculously simple.
Warm water.
Cold air.
Good company.
Full stomach.
Quiet mind.
That’s enough.
MAYBE THE REAL LUXURY IS PRIVACY
Hotels can be wonderful.
Resorts can be incredible.
But there is something different about having your own place.
Your kitchen.
Your deck.
Your fire.
Your view.
Your music.
Your schedule.
No elevator.
No lobby.
No stranger asking what you’re doing today.
You close the door and the outside world stays outside.
For a little while, the place belongs to you.
And maybe that’s what you were actually looking for.
FOR THE COUPLE WHO NEEDS TO FIND EACH OTHER AGAIN
You don’t necessarily need some grand romantic gesture.
You might need two days without logistics.
No schedules.
No errands.
No kids asking where something is.
No coworkers.
No television filling every silence.
Just the two of you.
A great bed.
A kitchen.
A fire.
A bottle of wine.
A hot tub.
Mountains.
See what happens.
Romance sometimes doesn’t need to be manufactured.
It just needs enough room to show back up.
FOR THE PERSON WHO NEEDS TO BE ALONE
Come alone.
Seriously.
Bring books.
Bring wine.
Bring running shoes.
Bring nothing.
Sleep.
Think.
Write.
Walk.
Sit outside for an embarrassingly long time doing absolutely nothing.
You don’t have to be lonely to crave solitude.
Sometimes your brain just needs everyone else to shut up for a minute.
There are worse places to hear yourself think than the mountains.
FOR THE FRIENDS WHO KEEP SAYING “WE SHOULD DO SOMETHING”
Do it.
There will never be a magical weekend when everyone’s calendar is completely clear.
Someone will have work.
Someone will have kids.
Someone will say next month is better.
Next month will not be better.
Pick the weekend.
Book the place.
Bring too much food.
Stay up until two in the morning telling the same stories you’ve told for fifteen years.
Those stories somehow get funnier in the mountains.
STOP TRYING TO MAXIMIZE EVERYTHING
This may be the real point.
Not every hour needs maximum productivity.
Not every trip needs maximum sightseeing.
Not every dinner needs to be the highest-rated restaurant.
Not every sunset needs to become content.
Sometimes maximizing an experience ruins it.
Leave some space.
Let the weekend surprise you.
Let yourself get bored.
Boredom is underrated.
Boredom is often where conversations begin.
Ideas show up.
Desire comes back.
People reconnect.
You notice things.
You breathe.
BOOK THE PLACE YOU DON’T WANT TO LEAVE
That changes everything.
Suddenly the cabin isn’t where you sleep between activities.
It is the activity.
Morning coffee becomes part of the trip.
Cooking becomes part of the trip.
The fireplace becomes part of the trip.
The deck becomes part of the trip.
The hot tub at midnight becomes the story you tell afterward.
And doing nothing?
That becomes the thing you wish you could do for one more day.
THAT’S THE KIND OF ESCAPE WE BELIEVE IN
Come to the mountains.
Bring somebody you love.
Or don’t.
Bring the good wine.
Bring the book you keep saying you’ll read.
Bring your appetite.
Bring your tired, overbooked, overconnected self.
Then close the door.
Put down the phone.
Take off your shoes.
Pour something.
Walk outside.
Look at the mountains.
And ask the most luxurious question you’ve asked yourself in a long time:
“What do I feel like doing?”
If the answer is absolutely nothing, you picked the right place.
16 Miles Stays
Sometimes where you stay is the whole reason you go.